and when you get there, is it perfect?
by hailingstars
Summary: Peter is homeless. Tony has a knack for adopting kids. And that doesn't change when he runs across a boy he met five years earlier, even if he has gotten himself into all sorts of trouble.
1. prologue

A/N: Hey! yes, I'm posting ANOTHER story, but this has been sitting in my computer for awhile, so I figured it was time to upload! It's a homeless Peter AU, and Morgan Stark will be here for it!

enjoy! and let me know if ya want more!

tw: mentions of past miscarriage

* * *

The Audi's tire screeched against wet pavement as Tony slammed the brakes and jerked the steering wheel in a new direction, and Pepper bumped against his arm when they made their fast, abrupt turn. He slowed car, creeping through the mostly empty parking lot of a rundown Target in Queens.

"Tony," Pepper breathed out. Her hand was still locked on her armrest, but she straightened back out and regained her usual composure. "What the hell?"

"You said you wanted breadsticks," said Tony. He parked the car in an empty spot near the front entrance. He took his seatbelt off. "I'm gonna get you breadsticks."

"No I said I have a craving-"

Tony already had his door flung open, and half his body out of the car. "-Yep, I heard ya."

He slammed the door, and the sound echoed around in his head as he marched across the parking lot, chunks of misplaced gravel crunched under his shoes. Maybe once this had been a parking lot. It was something else now. Something worn away, and it figured.

Tony didn't expect to find anything new in Queens.

A breeze blew a candy bar wrapper over his feet and blasted him with air that smelled wet and rusty.

He sped up.

The sooner he was in and out of Target, of all places, the better. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been inside of a grocery store. He had people for that, but Pepper needed breadsticks – no, was _craving _breadsticks – and that was a lot worse. That was trouble. That was anxiety and dread and heartbreak rolled up into carbs.

Tony was inches away from the entrance when he felt it, and he just barely did. A hand had slid inside his jacket pocket. With just one, unpredictable movement, he turned and seized the wrist of the person who attempted to pickpocket him, or rather, the boy who tried to. He had to look down to meet his eyes, and when he did, he saw big brown bambi eyes staring back up at him.

"Aw fuck," said the boy. He pulled on his arm, trying to free his wrist, but Tony only tightened his grip.

"Kiss your mother with that mouth?" Tony sounded lame, even to his own ears. He sounded like Cap, but he looked at this boy, with his dirty face and scruffy clothes, and he had theories that needed to be tested.

"Don't have a mother."

_Or father._

It was obvious.

Sometimes Tony thought about the child him and Pepper lost, the child that could have been but never was, and wondered how children like this, who were born healthy and alive, came to be on the streets. How the people who had all the luck didn't seem to care what they had. How parents let their children became thieves, or wandered into a sketchy parking lot in Queens, all alone, when it was almost dark.

Not having a mother or father, well that was the only answer Tony was capable of understanding.

The boy looked up at him, all wide eyes, then dropped his head solemnly, stopping his struggle to get free. "Please let me go. I didn't know you were Tony Stark."

"And if I wasn't Tony Stark stealing from me would be okay?"

He shrugged and looked back up at him. "As long as you're rich."

Tony hit with a disappointed frown but released his wrist and continued his stare down. His hoodie was too big and ripped in the shoulder. His shoes were falling apart. His hair was messy, and too long. It fell into his dirty, smudged face.

Tony's eyes flickered back to his car. It was close, and for a couple of seconds, he entertained the idea of picking this boy up by the legs, putting him in the backseat of the Audi, taking him home and making him take a bath, then giving him a good meal, he was way too skinny, and a nice lecture about not taking things that didn't belong to him.

Then what? He didn't know. His thoughts didn't get that far before he pushed them away. He didn't have a mother or a father, but he probably had someone, and besides that, Tony had breadsticks to fetch.

"We're not living in a Charles Dickens novel," said Tony. "You can't actually make a career out of being a pickpocket, and even if you could, you should choose something else. You suck at this, kid."

The boy's face scrunched up with indignation, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Tony didn't have the time to hear it. He turned on his heel and walked into the store, the automatic door sliding shut behind him.

* * *

Tony didn't go looking for breadsticks.

His feet carried him to the healthcare aisles automatically. His body was willing to admit why he was really there even if his mind and his spirit were not. Tony wandered the aisles, almost aimless, but at least still searching. He had no idea where to find pregnancy tests and wouldn't ask for help.

All he needed to further his panic along was a red polo shirt snapping a picture of him looking at pregnancy tests. It'd be on TMZ within hours, and the world didn't need to know about this. No one need to know, not ever, not even if he bought the test and it came back positive.

Last time they told people too soon. Last time Tony had to break the news to the world that there was no new baby Stark coming after all.

Last time Tony had been too consumed with bad memories of Howard, and with the panic he was going repeat those same mistakes, to consider he should've been fearful of other things. Last time Tony hadn't been looking forward to being a father until he sat in a doctor's office, holding Pepper's hand, and heard their child's heart beating for the first time.

It hadn't sunk in until that moment. He was going to be a dad. Maybe he would make mistakes, but he wouldn't make Howards.

They wanted that kid.

Tony had realized he'd always wanted that kid. His and Pepper's kid.

They heard the heartbeat, they picked out names, they read books, they painted a nursery.

After Pepper miscarried, Tony hired people to paint over it. He couldn't do it himself, and he couldn't have Pepper looking at the colors when she walked by it every day.

Tony didn't believe in signs or divine intervention, but he couldn't shake the feeling Pepper's grief was his fault. That the directors of the universe, if there were such beings, had to snuff out the life of his child before it started, simply because it was his child, and his fears of being Howard Stark number two hadn't been entirely unrealistic.

His shoes squeaked again the floor as he turned into a new aisle and found himself looking at a wall full of pregnancy tests. There were so many, too many options, and he didn't know how he was supposed to decide. The fluorescent lights above flickered. He shoved his panic down and picked one at random.

He brought the box closer, and his arm trembled. He didn't know how it was possible. To be afraid of what he wanted most.

Frantic footsteps, some yelling, snapped his attention away from the box. The boy from earlier ran towards him, with a box of cookies under his arm, and with a red polo shirt chasing after him. He didn't react. Just stood and watched dumbly as the boy, who wasn't looking where he was going, collided into him. He backed up, eyes going comically wide, gripping the box of cookies.

Red polo shirt got closer, and Tony swore under his breath. They were both caught. He needed to think fast. Tony slipped the pregnancy test into the boy's hoodie pocket and snatched the box of cookies from him.

"Thanks kid," said Tony. He made his voice loud, loud enough for the red polo to hear, and he hoped it'd be enough to convince him to turn over, but of course, it hadn't been.

The Target employee approached them, and glared at the boy, and Tony's hand twitched.

"You got a problem, or something? Why are you staring at us?"

His eyes went from the boy, to the cookies Tony cradled in his arm, to Tony's face.

"Mr. Stark," said the man. "He was stealing."

"I wasn't!"

"He was going to steal," he amended. "Comes in here and shoplifts plenty of times in a week for me to know he was about to run out that door without paying."

"He wasn't going to steal anything," said Tony. He put a hand on the kid's shoulder and squeezed, hoping to send a message. "I asked him to grab these for me. He was just helping out a clueless billionaire."

"You asked him to bring you a box of cookies?" repeated the employee.

"Real fast on the uptake, aren't you there –" Tony leaned forward, read his nametag "-Bill." He looked down at the kid. "Memorable name, isn't bud? It'll come in handy when we report him to upper management for harassing us, won't it?"

The kid looked back at up at him, smiled, and nodded his head. His smile lit up his whole face, and it almost made the dirt and the ratty clothing disappear.

Bill narrowed his eyes, gave the boy one last, pointed glare, before turning and walking away with a huff. Tony watched him go, until out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid reach his hand inside his hoodie's pocket. Tony gave his hand a slap.

"What're doing?" Tony whisper-yelled. "Trying to get us caught? Leave that alone and be cool until we're past the registers."

"Okay, okay," said the kid. "I can be cool."

"You seriously need to get better at this if you're making it a habit," said Tony, as they walked towards the register.

The boy grumbled something under his breath, and Tony placed the single box of cookies on the register counter. Behind him, the kid made a big deal about kicking the ground, trying way too hard to look inconspicuous, but it didn't matter. The girl ringing him out was too impressed with Tony Stark to be worried with the obvious shoplifter he had standing behind him.

The transaction was over with just the slid of a credit card, an autograph, and a photo for her Instagram.

Just like that, Tony had everything he came in looking for, sans the breadsticks. His eyes fell over the sign to the Pizza Hut installed inside the Target, next to the automatic doors. Perfect.

He looked back down at the kid. Everything he came in for, and one thing he didn't.

"You hungry, kid?"

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to."

He handed him the plastic bag that held the cookies and gave his back a push. "I offered, and you don't have a choice. Didn't anyone ever teach you to eat your dinner before your dessert?"

* * *

"So, do you got a name?"

Tony was leaned back in his seat, with his arm resting on the chair next to him, as he watched the kid completely devour the pizza. He finished chewing what was in his mouth, washed it down with the soda Tony bought for him, and then answered the question.

"It's Ben," he said. "Ben Peterson."

Tony doubted it. The kid wasn't good at stealing, and he wasn't good at lying, either. His legs swung back and forth a little too aggressively. For a split second, Tony saw his eyes flicker towards the store exit, before returning to rest on Tony.

'Ben' gave him an unconfident smiled, then stuffed his face with more pizza.

"You could slow down," said Tony. "The food isn't going anywhere."

"Sorry," said Ben. His mouth was full, and Tony had the urge to correct him. But the moment passed. The next time he spoke, he had already swallowed his food. "Where I come from, if you don't fast you don't eat."

Tony nodded his head. He figured as much. A foster kid. A foster kid who didn't have anyone looking out for him, or anyone considering that he was very young to be out on the streets by himself.

"I'm not complaining, you know," said Ben. "I have a place to sleep, there's lots of people who don't even have that much."

He went back to work on the pizza, and Tony let his mind drift down dangerous paths. He wondered how Pepper would react if he put this boy in their car and declared he was theirs now. It wouldn't matter if the stick turned blue or not, they would still have a kid, even if it was a stolen one.

It was a ridiculous thought. Of course he couldn't take this boy home with him and Pepper, but he couldn't shake it. He couldn't help thinking that having a place to sleep wasn't the same as having a home.

Ben finished his pizza. He even inhaled the breadsticks, and once finished, he wiped the grease from his hands on his clothes. Tony wanted to explain to him about napkins but resisted. Instead, he just watched him as he took the pregnancy test out from his hoodie pocket and put it on the table.

He looked at the cardboard box, then back up at Tony.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," said Tony, his denial too fast. Now he was the one bad at lying. "No, I'm not afraid, why would you ask that?"

Ben shrugged. "I don't know. You stole it, aren't thieves always just a little bit afraid?"

"Not this one," said Tony. "And technically you're the one who stole it, which makes you the scared one."

He only blinked back at him, and after a couple beats of silence, took a sip from his soda. "I should go, they'll be looking for me soon. I don't want to make them worry."

Ben didn't elaborate on who they were, and Tony didn't ask. It didn't matter. If they were people who loved him, he would've listed them by name. He stood up from the table and hooked his hand through the handle of the plastic grocery bag. Ben hadn't noticed, but Tony slipped a hundred into it when he wasn't looking.

"Thanks, Mr. Stark," said Ben. "And, you don't have to be afraid. You're going to make a really good dad."

"Stay out of trouble, kid," said Tony, "or at least find a different Target to lift from."

Ben smiled at him. "See? You're doing it already."

He filled up his cup once last time at the soda fountain, and left the store, with the plastic bag slung over his shoulder. Tony stayed glued to the chair, looking at the pregnancy test, and somehow, feeling a little bit less afraid. He took a breath, grabbed the test from off the table, and put in an order for another round of breadsticks.

The food wasn't enough to impress Pepper when he got back to the car.

He climbed in behind the steering wheel, passed her the breadsticks, while she glared at him.

"You were in there for thirty-seven minutes," she told him. "I've been in this car –"

Tony pulled the pregnancy test out from his jacket pocket and tossed it on her lap. "I need you to pee on this stick."

She went silent. Her expression fell, as they stared at each other. It was in her eyes. She wanted the same thing. For the stick to be blue, and for it to turn out differently this time.


	2. setting a trap

_**5 years later**_

Peter dropped from the air, hit the ground with all the grace of a spider, and ran. He should've been, commended really, since he rather run than fight. The two Avengers chasing him didn't stand a chance if they caught him.

He adjusted his mask, securing it to his head as he weaved in and out of pedestrians on the sidewalk. They shouted at him. Complained about the less than two second inconvenience he caused them by running for his freedom, but Peter was used to existing as an inconvenience.

Those words were old news.

He stopped, found an alley to turn into, and instantly realized his mistake. The Avenger with the wings swooped down, landing in front of him. Behind him, metal arm guy must've caught up. Peter heard his heavy breathing.

"Give it up," said bird-man. "You're cornered."

Peter pointed his wrist up, and with his other hand, gripped the strap of his back pack. Just as he was about to fling himself back into the air, up and over the building, his breath was knocked out of him. He was pushed up against the building, metal arm guy now eying his bookbag, about to rip it away from him.

"Oh, hey guys," said Peter. "What took you so long?"

He leaned back against the wall behind him, using it as support so he could aim a good kick into metal-arm's stomach. Peter ran past him while he grunted in pain.

"I would love to stay and talk, but places to be and all that."

He tried again to escape via web but stopped short when his senses flared. He turned, caught a metal arm that had been flying towards his head, and stared into the shocked expression of the Avenger as Peter held back his punch.

"Whoa, dude," said Peter. He threw his arm back at him. "Chill out, man."

Metal arm stepped back and glared down at him. "He's just a kid."

The Avenger with the wings approached, hesitant, eying him a bit differently. "How old are you?"

Peter didn't see why that mattered, didn't see how that would change anything. He took a couple of steps backward and pressed his finger against the trigger on his web shooter. He knew avoid hesitation, but he was sort of curious.

"Why are you chasing me?" asked Peter.

"Because you're carrying weapons that's been modified with alien tech," said the bird-guy. "It puts people in danger, including you, and it's illegal."

"Oh."

He honestly didn't know what'd been put into his bag. He didn't ask questions. He learned a long time ago, when it came to Toomes, it was better not to know. His conscience made him soft, or at least that's what he was told. So he just did his runs, and collected his dues, and kept his head down, his mouth shut, his brain turned off.

Peter couldn't decide if it was better or worse than just stealing money, than making victims of the rich. He still did that occasionally. When he needed to, but this way, he earned his keep. It was work, even if it was technically dirty work, and that was better than foster care.

"If you're as young as you sound," said the bird man. "We can help you. Just give us the bag."

"That easy, huh?" asked Peter, with a titled head. He knew it wasn't. He knew what the government did with people like him, and even if he didn't get locked away in some prison for mutants, he'd be tossed back to the foster care system.

No thanks, to either.

He was fast. He shot one web at metal-arm, and another at bird-man. They both flew backwards, hit the building, and they were stuck.

"It's been real nice," said Peter. He pointed his wrist up. That time there was no one to stop him, no interruptions. "But I have to get going. See you next time."

He flung up on the building, hesitated, and crouched. He looked down. Both Avengers were fighting the hold of the webs, arguing with each other, and for a few seconds, Peter wondered what it might be like to give up his bookbag and let them have whatever weapons were inside.

Maybe he'd go back with them to Avenger's Tower. Maybe Iron Man would remember him as something more than a child and a thief.

But probably not. Too risky, anyway.

Peter straightened back out, turned, and didn't look back as he leapt off the building, into the city.

After he dropped off the goods to some customers, and collected the payments, Spider-Man swung his way into Toomes' warehouse, where he and his crew were spread out around workstations, kicking back with sandwiches and beers. Peter's stomach gave a growl as he walked across the mostly empty space, largely ignored by Toomes' crew. He didn't care. He liked it better that way.

Peter dropped the cash on the desk in front of Toomes, and waited with his arms crossed to receive his cut.

"You're late," said Toomes. He picked up the cash, counted it, then handed a few bills to Peter, who accepted it with a frown.

"You said sixty," said Peter. "That's not fair."

"What are you, five? About time you learned life isn't fair," said Toomes. He looked him up and down. "Probably should've realized, by now, and it's like I said, you were late."

Peter glared at him, but he didn't know why he was surprised. Adults couldn't be trusted to keep their word, or to do anything at all, really. He pocketed the money, without breaking eye contact, and lifted his chin.

"I was little distracted," Peter told him. "The Avengers were chasing me."

"The Avengers? Why?"

"I dunno. It wasn't anyone important, but they still weren't easy to outrun," said Peter, with a shrug, and a careless grin. "Sounds like they're on to you."

"Better hope not," said Toomes. "Where else would a boy like you find work if it wasn't for me?"

He'd survive. He didn't like stealing from people on subways, but he'd do it, if he had to, even if it did come with a small amount of guilt he attributed to that time he met Tony Stark at a Target.

Peter turned and started out of the warehouse, barely listening as Toomes called out after him.

"Next time it's sixty, if you're on time."

He took his money straight to Delmar's after changing out from his spidey sweat suit. Mr. Delmar had the best sandwiches in Queens, and he was a growing spider, so he bought three, some chips, and soda to bring back to the abandoned building he called home.

He'd claimed a room up at the top, one he guessed might've been the office of someone important once, but it was empty now. Except for Peter, and the lifeless robots he built for scraps. They were the things to greet him when he went home, threw his bag down on his thin sleeping bag, and sat down against the wall.

His bots didn't work. They didn't have a power source, and Peter had yet to find anything capable of bringing them to life. Still, they helped fill the emptiness of Peter's abandoned office. They waited for him to come home, stared at him with metal eyes that were really just caps from beer bottles.

Peter sat down on his sleeping bag, across from his family of metal, pulling his sandwiches out from his bag, and placing a sandwich in front of each of his two bots. Then he got the third sandwich, unwrapped it from the plastic, and chomped down.

"I had a good day today," said Peter. "There was this test in biology, I nailed it."

He opened the can of soda, and the sound of the fizz was oddly loud, or maybe anything else was just too silent. He filled it by continuing to tell his made-up family about his made-up day. If he were normal, and his family was built from something besides rust and metal, he'd be a freshman in school.

"The rest of the kids, they can't really keep up with me," said Peter. Beer bottle eyes looked back at him. "I'm too smart, maybe that's why I don't have any friends."

Even in his fantasies, he couldn't imagine real flesh and blood people talking to him, wanting to be his friend, seeing more than just a boy with ratty clothes who steals and digs through people's trash for scraps.

He finished off his first sandwich, then started on another, then finally, the last one. His stomach was full, but everything else still felt really empty.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," said Tony. His eyes moved back and forth between Sam and Bucky. They were empty handed, and they weren't supposed to be. Both of them sat on the same bed in the tower's medical wing, while lab technicians picked dried up webbing off them, to later carry off and run their tests. "You two got bested by a teenage boy who jumps around the city in his pajamas?"

Steve shifted on his feet. He stood next to Tony, and he was obviously uncomfortable, with the situation, or with Tony's tone, but also, he was unwilling to say anything.

"You know he's just a kid?" asked Sam. "How?"

"I have a file, I've been keeping tabs."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him, so Tony decided to demonstrate. He took out his phone and projected an image into the air. Pajama boy caught a car with his hands, he swung around the city with webbing Tony was anxious to discover the properties of, he stopped a mugging, only to turn the tables and rob the mugger.

"Let me introduce you to Spider-Man, Spider-Boy, Spiderling," said Tony, as more images flashed. "I prefer the name Underoos with that getup he's wearing. He's a runner of illegal drugs, poorly constructed weapons modified with alien tech, thanks to our friend Big Bird. He's a petty thief, and sometimes, vigilante."

"Whatever he is," said Bucky. "He's insanely strong. He blocked one of my punches like it was nothing."

"And like you said, he's working for Toomes," said Sam.

Steve shifted again. That time turning towards Tony. "You knew about all this, and you didn't think to have him brought in?"

"He's harmless." Tony put his phone back in his pocket, and when he looked up, Steve's gaze was still set on him.

"Or he isn't," said Steve. "Fury clearly doesn't think so. He wants him off the streets. Gave the order for him to be brought in this morning."

It made sense, at least to Tony, that Fury wanted him off the streets, that the director of SHIELD wouldn't want someone like Peter Parker to fall into the hands of Secretary Ross, who seemed to have some kind of vendetta against mutants and spent a lot of time rounding them up and having them sent off to the raft.

Tony didn't want that for spider-boy, but also, he wasn't sure he was ready to turn him over to Fury, either. He was too young to become a weapon, way too young, and someone like Peter Parker had no business at any kind of SHIELD facility.

"We should go grab him soon," said Sam. "Faster he's here, sooner he's contained, and safe from Ross."

"No," said Tony. Three pairs of eyes were back on him. "We don't need to go get him, he'll come to us." He shrugged, then answered the questions in their eyes. "It's easy to set a trap for a thief, especially once we figure out how to counter that webbing."

"Not a bad idea," said Steve. "What do you think, Buck? How many of us will it take?"

"For one superpowered teenager? Everyone."

Tony rolled his eyes. This was a child wearing pajamas. They were talking about a child as if catching him would be the hardest mission they ever had, but Tony wasn't Sam or Bucky or even Steve. He wasn't about be outsmarted or outtalked or webbed to the side of a building by a fourteen-year-old kid.

"Just me," Tony quipped. "Leave it to me, I'll handle Underoos."

Steve frowned, and shook his head, and no doubt, he had a ready-made speech about the importance of teamwork on his lips, but luckily for Tony, his one lifeline darted into the medical room and into his arms.

"Dad," said Morgan, as Tony hoisted her up. Morgan Stark was only four years old, and she was already better at saving people than anyone of the Avengers. It wasn't just Tony's opinion. Nat agreed, too. "Mom said to come get you. It's time to goooo."

"You know what, you're right," said Tony. "I apologize. I'm late." He looked at Steve, Sam and Bucky, and started to back away towards the door, into the hallway. "You guys know how it is. Family first, and all that. We'll launch operation trap a spider tomorrow."

"Of course, Tony. Go be with your family," said Steve, but Tony was out the door, and on his way, and certainly didn't need the permission.

* * *

Family dinners on Friday nights happened at Joey's.

It was a small, family ran pizzeria the Starks drove an hour and a half out from the city to get to, but every second was worth it. Tony loved the time alone in the car with his family, and he loved walking into the restaurant where they were treated like extended family, instead of like celebrities.

No one at Joey's tried to snap pictures of Morgan, or hound Tony with questions about the Avengers, or assault Pepper with inquiries into Stark Industries business dealings. At Joey's it was quiet, and it was just Tony and his family, and that was all he really needed, even if he'd like his family to be a bit bigger.

Sometimes he still felt like the Starks had a couple of missing pieces, like they were somehow incomplete. He supposed that was normal, though. Tony couldn't ever remember a time when his life felt complete. Even when he met Pepper, even when they fell in love, and then Morgan came into the world.

They made life fuller, brighter, more loving, but still, they could use a few extra people.

Morgan, apparently, felt that way, too.

She colored on the back of her menu with crayons while they waited for their pizza, and she picked it up, flipped it over, so Tony and Pepper could see.

"Look, it's us," said Morgan. She pointed to each stick figure on the paper and named them, finally she getting to the blob cradled in stick-Tony's arms. "And that's baby brother."

"Baby brother?" asked Tony.

"Mmhmm," said Morgan. She pushed her menu aside, and snatched the one in front of Tony, flipped it over, and began drawing another masterpiece. That one included nameless baby boy Stark, too.

"Jamie had to miss the playdate today, because her mom went into labor," explained Pepper. "Morgan has been convinced she must have a brother on the way, too, all day long."

"We could make that happen," said Tony, and Pepper gave him a look.

They both knew they probably couldn't. That the chances were slim, that Morgan was a living, breathing miracle, and probably, in that moment and forever on, an only child.

He watched Morgan color. Her mouth slanted upward as she concentrated on her drawing, something Tony saw Pepper's mouth do whenever she was deep into SI business.

The wait staff brought their pizza, along with Morgan's second glass of chocolate milk, and Tony let his eyes fall over the empty space next to his daughter. For a few seconds, he wondered what it might be like if she had a sibling sitting next to her, but didn't dwell, opting to enjoy what he had instead of what could never be.

* * *

A/N: hope you're enjoying the story! next chapter probably in a week and a half-ish but don't quote me

and thanks so much for everyone commenting and favoriting and subbing, it means so much to me seriously, thanks!


	3. caught

Peter looked up at Avenger's Tower from the sidewalk, and knew it was a bad idea.

He knew as soon as Toomes had explained the job, as soon as he mentioned it had anything to do with the Avengers. He should've just walked away. No amount of money was worth getting busted trying to rob a place that housed the Avengers, where he would, without a doubt, be outnumbered and easily caught if something went wrong.

And something usually did go wrong. It was Parker luck. It was his curse, and his birthright.

Though, despite his bad feelings, despite knowing better, there Peter was, at the bottom of the Tower, about to make the climb. He was drawn to that place, where all the Avenger's lived, and where Tony Stark lived.

Sometimes Peter wondered if Iron Man would be disappointed in him, and wondered what he thought about Spider-Man, if he even thought about him at all. He hadn't exactly done what he'd been told and stayed out of trouble. Standing at the bottom of Avenger's Tower, it was clear he'd done the exact opposite.

He'd gone looking for trouble, as means for survival maybe, but this stunt, this job, was about more than that. He was searching for something. Just didn't know what.

Peter adjusted his mask, made sure it was secure, then started his climb. It went quick, and just seconds later, he was pushing himself up and over the balcony, the same balcony he'd seen Iron Man land on countless times. He readjusted his mask one last time and walked across the balcony and through the wide-open door.

Sure, it was a little strange that door was left open, but he pressed on anyway. Maybe it was really going to be that easy. He'd outsmarted the other two Avengers a couple of days ago, maybe they were all just that stupid and incompetent.

Still, he wasn't stupid about it. he showed some signs of hesitant. After he stepped inside, he looked all around the room with all its space and high-ceilings. He focused on his spidey senses. Nothing. He was in the clear.

And he had his sights on the prize, or rather Toomes' prize. A glowing cube sat in the center of a glass case. Peter didn't know what it was. He didn't care to find out. Each step closer brought him closer to the double pay Toomes had promised him. That'd be enough to keep Peter from pickpocketing rich jerks on subways, or from another job like that one, for at least a couple of weeks.

He picked up the glass and carefully set it aside, then picked up the cube, turning it over and over in his hands, watching it glow. Something felt wrong.

"Too easy," whispered Peter. He rubbed at the corner of the cube with the sleeve of his Spidey sweat suit. Glowy powder came off and smudged on his sleeve.

"Strange, isn't?"

Peter's breath hitched, and he spun around. Tony Stark stood behind the bar at the far side of the room. He was staring at him, but for how long. He couldn't have been there the whole time. Just couldn't have.

"The first time we met you were trying to steal from me, and now, here you are, all these years later, up to the same tricks," said Tony. "Outfits changed a little, I'll admit."

"You, y-you –" Peter stuttered around, stuck on one word while he searched for others. He didn't know what he was trying to say. That he was shocked Iron Man remembered him, maybe, but most of him was just shocked and scared he was there, in that room, and Peter hadn't noticed. "You remembered."

"Not at first," said Tony. He started a slow, methodical walk out from behind the bar, creeping closer to Peter. "Then you webbed up the two stooges and talked a whole lot doing it, and when I reviewed the footage, I thought you sounded… familiar, so I looked into it."

Peter took a couple of steps backwards, to make up for the distance Tony gained. He noticed. He stopped approaching.

"You lied to me, about your name," said Tony. "Not cool, Peter Parker, you could've been a little more creative."

"How do you even remember that?" asked Peter. He meant _why_. Why would Tony Stark remember him, when that made everything so much more difficult.

"It isn't everyday a boy tries to pickpocket you in a Target."

Peter looked down at the cube cradled in his hands. He was fucked. He was caught, with no way out, at least no way out that didn't involve getting through Iron Man, who had, once again, started moving closer and closer to him. He was slow and careful, as if Peter were a scared, wounded animal that would bolt or attack if he was caught off guard.

"You know what that is?" asked Tony, gesturing at the cube.

Peter shook his head.

"Yeah, me either, and who cares, right? If it were, you know, dangerous, and it happened to fall into the wrong hands, or more aptly in this case, the wrong grubby little claws, that isn't your problem, is it? Ignorance means you don't have to feel guilty when things get fucked up, right?"

Peter backed up some more. He didn't like the way Tony Stark kept tightening the room by closing the distance between them. He didn't like the way it made him feel trapped, or the way the man kept trying to poke holes in his conscience, in the way he rationalized what he was doing.

"How am I doing?"

Peter glared. He shrugged.

"Well that thing you have in your hands? It _is _dangerous," said Tony. "And Toomes is just about the last person who needs that kind of power. For his own good. He'll probably blow himself up with it, along with half the city."

As much as Peter wanted to smile at the jab at Toomes, he kept his jaw tight, his eyes set on the door behind Tony, before looking back down at the cube in his hands.

It didn't feel dangerous. It didn't hum with power or feel like anything, at all. The more he looked at it, the more he was convinced that it did nothing except look important and glow, that Tony was lying. Peter supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Adults couldn't be trusted to tell the truth, or to do much of anything good.

Peter's eyes flashed back towards the door, towards freedom, and Tony tracker their movement with his own eyes.

"Just hand over the cube. Do the right thing."

"And I walk out of here?"

"No," said Tony. "You were never gonna walk out of here, but if you hand over the cube, I can help you."

The thing was, Peter didn't know how Tony defined help. Maybe to him if was calling CPS or sending him somewhere for mutants, or maybe, Tony's idea of help was locking him up in some prison.

Some people were twisted like that. Some people liked to twist words.

"Stop pretending, this isn't dangerous. It was a trap," said Peter. The box in his hands was just a prop. It was bait. Ultimately, it was bait that had him hooked, hooked and worried. "And I don't need help."

"Yeah, you're right, it was."

"Why?"

"Well I needed to get you here, safely, and I wanted to see if I could trust you to do the right thing, see how far Toomes has wormed his way into your head, that sort of thing. You know, _you_ become the weapon when you let the wrong people use you."

Peter had heard enough. He didn't stop by to be lectured by Iron Man, he had a job to do, and since that job had disappeared into thin air, it was time for him to do the same.

Without giving Tony a warning, Peter threw the box down and heard it shatter as he darted towards the door. He didn't make it. Tony's arm was suddenly covered in red armor that easily checked him on his way and pushed him off his feet, sent him falling to the floor. He rolled on his back, and looked up, and was staring into Iron Man's outstretched palm.

"Sorry, kid," said Tony. To his credit, he really did look sorry. "This is gonna hurt."

Peter rolled to his side, just in time to miss a repulsor beam, but also, just in time to roll right into another trap. Tony had never meant to hit him with a repulsor. He'd gambled on the dodge, and won, and Peter, instead of being blasted, was shot with a tiny gun Tony had been hiding in his other, non-armored hand.

"You… you shot me," said Peter, grabbing at his leg. He wanted to stand. Everything inside him was screaming, telling him to run, to get out of there, but it was really nice there on the floor. Comfortable, and he was so, so tired.

Too tired, even, to stop Tony when he gently tugged off his mask. "Sleep tight, Spidey."

The darkness was comfortable, too. It was calling, so Peter closed his eyes, and faded out.

* * *

Tony watched the spider-boy sleep.

He'd moved him, or rather, he had Bucky move him. Tony had stood back and watched as Bucky scrapped his limp body off the floor and followed from behind as they walked through the hallways and towards the Tower's medical wing. Bucky had left immediately after placing Peter on a bed in the nearest room, but Tony had stayed behind.

He'd brought the covers up to the boy's chin, before taking the bedside chair. The rooms on that side of the tower got pretty chilly, and the last thing Tony wanted was a spider-popsicle. He leaned back in the chair, marveling at how strange life could be, at how lucky he was, to be handed this golden opportunity of a second chance.

The night before, when he'd been reviewing security footage, and he stumbled upon the similarities between Spider-Kid and Ben Peterson, he didn't believe it. He ran age progression software of the Target security footage just to quiet the nagging in the back of his mind, and when it came back, looking just like Peter Parker, he'd dropped his coffee mug.

It wasn't often life went around passing out second chances. At least not to Tony, and he wouldn't be wasting the one he had. One of the biggest regrets of his life thus far was doing nothing more than buying a pizza and slipping a hundred dollars to a boy he knew was in trouble.

Ben Peterson haunted him, all these years in-between.

Tony let him slip through the cracks, slip right through his fingers, and look what he became. Peter Parker wouldn't be leaving his sight, at least not until Tony was sure he was safe, or at least, on his way somewhere safe.

Safe wasn't SHIELD and it sure as hell letting him be taken away by Ross. As far as Tony was concerned, the safest place in the city, the country, was Avenger's Tower, where he could keep an eye on him.

Tony reached into his pocket and retrieved a black band. It was a tracker, among other things, built with nanotech, and designed specifically for Peter. It would stick to his skin, it'd be impossible for him to take off, without expertise Tony was unwilling to give away. He secured it to the boy's wrist. It locked onto him and left no space between skin and metal.

He hoped Peter would forgive him. He hoped he wouldn't see the tower and his new situation as a prison, but knew, a boy like Peter, probably would. It didn't really matter. Tony knew what was best.

The Tower was a better home than the raft, and the Avengers made a better family than SHIELD.

"I notified Fury that we have the boy."

Tony closed his eyes and muttered under his breath, before turning on his heel to face Steve, who had appeared in the doorway.

"Agents are on their way to pick him up," said Steve.

"Why," said Tony, as he reached the depths of his being for patience. He'd told Steve not to do that. He'd told him to wait, to just give him a few hours. "Why would you do a stupid thing like that?"

"Because… that was the mission."

"That was Fury's mission," said Tony. "It was never ours."

Steve titled his head and crossed his arm. "And what was our mission, then?"

Tony looked down at Peter Parker. He was shifting around in his bed, trying to wake up from the sedative that had knocked him out. Tony was running out of time. He turned his attention back to Steve.

"We keep him."

"He's not a puppy, Tony."

"He's not an experiment, or a solider, either," he countered "He might become both if we turn him over to Fury."

Peter groaned, and he tried to sit up as he blinked his eyes open. Tony put his hand on the boy's shoulder and pushed him back down into pillow mountain.

"Stay down," said Tony. The very last thing they needed was a struggle in the medical room, with SHIELD agents on the way.

Peter gave him a shocked, confused expression, but didn't attempt sitting up a second time. His eyes darted around the room. No doubt, trying to piece together where he was and how he'd gotten there.

"Look," said Tony, looking back at Steve. "You know I'm right. He's just a kid. He doesn't belong in a SHIELD recruitment class or a prison, and there's plenty of room here. We can hide him."

"Not forever."

"Maybe not. But we can at least buy some time."

"You shot me," rasped Peter, interrupting them.

"Relax, kid, it was just a sedative. You needed a nap, you weren't being very friendly," said Tony. "See, Cap? He needs to stay here. He doesn't even know the difference between a bullet and a sedative. He'd wouldn't survive going with Fury – "

"…Fury?" Peter's eyes went back and forth between Tony and Steve. "Like Nick Fury?"

"And he's scared."

"I'm not scared, and I'm right _here_. Why are you two talking about me like I'm not in the room?"

Peter tried sitting up again, but Tony pushed him back down easily, only that time, got his hand swatted away. He glared at Tony, looking more and more like an adorable, angry puppy trying his best to look scary and failing spectacularly.

"Fine," said Steve. "He can stay but – "

"-I don't want to stay here- "

"-Too bad, kid, no choice, it's been decided-

Steve cleared his throat and made his voice louder to finish his sentence. "But I don't know how you're going to hide him from Fury. He already knows he's here."

"He ran away, jumped out the window," said Tony. He picked up the chair he'd been sitting in, marched it over to the window, and put all his strength into the breaking the glass. Probably, it'd been necessary, but there was something very cathartic about smashing something and watching it break into pieces.

Steve watched him with little reaction. "That… works."

Tony grabbed a folded-up wheelchair from the corner of the room, unfolded and rolled it up to Peter's bed. The boy's eyes were locked on the broken window, either mesmerized by hope of actual escape, or shocked that Tony had rammed a chair into it.

"Alright Oliver Twist, in the chair."

Peter stared at him and didn't move.

"Who do you trust the least," started Tony. "Me, or Nick Fury?"

"Fine," said Peter. It'd taken him less than a second to decide.

He shifted around on the bed, his movements slow and sloppy. Still, apparently, recovering from the sedative. Tony grabbed his arm to steady him, to help lower him down into the chair, and then, with a salute goodbye to the Captain, who almost screwed up everything, he rolled Peter into the hallway, into an elevator, and finally, into the foyer of Tony's home.

* * *

A/N: thanks for reading! I'm hoping to have the next chapter out this time next week, but don't me if it's a few days later!


	4. from target

"How long are you going to keep me here?"

Peter tried to make his voice sound as demanding as possible, like he wasn't afraid, or feeling like the walls of Tony Stark's luxury penthouse might close in on him. He'd never liked tight places, and while the bedroom Tony wheeled him into was spacious and bright, he couldn't help feeling like a prisoner, like he wasn't in control and there was nothing to be done about it.

A couple of seconds ticked by, and it was clear Tony wasn't going to answer him, so Peter stood up from the wheelchair, earning a look of momentary shock from Tony.

"I was faking it," said Peter. "The sedative wore off as soon as I woke up… I just… buying time, until I could jump out of the window for real."

"I'm gonna have to keep my eyes on you, huh," said Tony. "What changed your mind?"

Peter lifted his arm, the one with the tracker locked around it, and gave Tony a look. He didn't appreciate being trapped, and he appreciated even less that the possibility of escape was stained with knowing the Avengers would just find him again, likely before Peter even made it back to his bots.

"Are you sure that's the only reason?" asked Tony, his eyes scanning, searching, looking for a lie.

Peter stared back and didn't blink. "How long are you planning to keep me here?"

Tony sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, before straightening his posture and stretching out his arm, beckoning towards a door at the side of the room. "That's your bathroom. I left some clothes in there for you, on the sink. They'll be a little big, but they're just for now. I ordered some clothes that will fit, and they will be here later on today."

Peter didn't know what to do with that information. He didn't know how it was possible Tony Stark knew what size he wore. _He _didn't know what size he wore. It'd be so long since he had anything new. It'd be so long since he cared about whether or not something fit properly.

"So, the shower is all yours," continued Tony. "And when you're done, come find me in the kitchen and we'll have dinner, alright?"

Peter's stomach gave a growl at the mention of food, and he wondered how long the sedative had knocked him out, giving Tony just enough time to make his exit before Peter could demand any more answers or make any more protests about his situation. He left him alone, standing in the middle of a bedroom, or as Peter saw it, a prison cell.

It was pretty luxurious for a prison, spacious, with large windows and a giant bed stacked with pillows and bedding that looked like it was made from the clouds. There was a TV, another room Peter assumed was a closet, space to hang all the clothes Tony claimed to have ordered for him. It was extravagance, not just for a homeless person, but for any person.

He had a home once, and he didn't remember the bathroom having heated towel racks.

Peter got into the shower and savored the hot water, the steam. It was relaxing, and he'd forgotten it. He couldn't remember the last time he took a shower that wasn't in the bathroom of a convenience store, or the last time he was actually able to wash his hair. He tried not to get catch up in it, how nice it was to have a shower, and reminded himself over and over that it was temporary.

That he had to escape before Tony got tired of him and sent him away to Nick Fury.

He forced himself out of the shower, despite wanting to enjoy the hot water a bit longer, dried off, and put on a black AC/DC shirt that was, like Tony said, too big. He finished getting dressed, then lastly, ripped open a brand-new package of socks. Dry socks. Another unknown luxury.

Peter found Tony in the kitchen, behind a stove, dishing out spaghetti on a nearby plate. It was a strange sight. He never imagined Iron Man fussing over noodles and sauce, making him dinner.

"Just on time," said Tony. "Hungry?"

Peter nodded and sat down at the kitchen table, just as Tony put the plate in front of him. Tony had it piled high with food, but Peter ignored it in favor of harassing Tony with another question.

"Where are my web-shooters?" asked Peter, as Tony placed a fork and a glass of water in front of him.

"Hey, here's an idea," said Tony. "Stop asking questions you don't want to hear the answers to and eat your food."

Peter picked up his fork, but stayed staring at Tony, waiting him out. He walked to the fridge, opened it, and grabbed a bottle of water. He put that in front of Peter, too.

"I put them away," said Tony. "You won't need there here."

It was vague, but it was answer, and that was more than Peter had before. He went to work on his food, inhaling, realizing he was hungrier than he realized, that the sedative must have had him out for longer than he thought. While he ate, Captain America came to visit them, with good news.

The SHIELD agents came. They bought the story, and they left.

Steve Rogers gave Peter a look of sympathy before he left them, and Peter didn't exactly know what the sympathy was for. There were too many things to pick. He was an orphaned mutant without a home, hunted by the government, and working for a criminal.

He probably wanted him in real jail, and maybe he was right. Peter didn't deserve to be free. He knew that survival wasn't an excuse for aiding Toomes in putting alien weapons in the hands of criminals. His ignorance only went so far and seemed to evaporate completely after Tony's speech before he shot him, or in the presence of Avenger's, who'd eventually have to clean up after the mess he helped Toomes make.

Peter dropped his fork and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and Tony gave him a look and passed him a napkin.

"Thanks," said Peter, taking the napkin, and wiping off his face.

"No problem, kid," said Tony. "… Listen I know this isn't what you want or where you want to be, but it could be worse."

"I could be with Fury," echoed Peter, though Tony's words did little to make him feel better. It was the answer, to his first question, just in disguise. A long time. Peter was going to be there a long time, or Tony wouldn't bother trying to dress it up.

"Or with Ross."

Peter's need to ask questions again. By another person running into the kitchen. A smaller person, with dark brown hair and an Iron Man bookbag bouncing on her back as she ran.

"Dad!" She rammed into Tony's legs, before looking around, and seeing that there was another person in the room. She stared at Peter, all wide, brown eyes, and asked, "Are you my new baby brother?"

"Ummmm," said Peter, looking at Tony for help.

"Peter is going to be staying here with us, as our guest," explained Tony, just as woman with blonde hair entered the kitchen. The famous Pepper Potts. Peter had seen her before, gracing the covers of business magazines, as the CEO of Stark Industries.

She looked at Tony in a way that told Peter he might be going off with Fury sooner rather than later, one that told Peter she had no one idea about his coming to stay there, and why would she? It was strange and disorienting to think about, but just last night Peter was holed up in his abandoned building with his robots. Now he was in the Avenger's Tower, the topic of a couple's oncoming argument.

"Peter, why don't you go get settled into your room?" asked Tony.

"You mean my cell?" said Peter, from his seat at the table.

Tony and Peter had a short staring contest, which Tony won, when Peter stood up and marched off to the guest bedroom without other word, reminded of why he ran from the foster care system at a young age.

He'd just been so tired, tired of adults discussing and deciding what to do with him and his future without any ideas from him. He supposed his opinion didn't matter. He supposed it still didn't. If it did, he wouldn't be at Avenger's Tower, and wouldn't have a tracker around his wrist, but he guessed that was too be expected.

Maybe he didn't deserve to have an opinion, maybe this time he didn't get say wasn't because he was a child, but because he was a criminal.

* * *

"Can I help?"

Peter's eyes snapped away from the floor, where he'd scattered black, purple and bluish puzzle pieces. That's the way him and May used to do puzzles, back when she was alive and doing puzzles, and when he'd found the shelve of jigsaws in the cabinet, searching for something, anything, to do, he couldn't resist.

He'd picked the one that looked the hardest, a galaxy print with two thousand pieces, opened the box, then dumped them.

The little girl from earlier took one step into the bedroom, but still seemed to hover in place, like she wasn't sure he was supposed to be there. "Well, can I?"

"Yeah, sure," said Peter. "You can help find the edges."

She walked further into the room, and sat down on the carpet across from him, staring intently, not at the puzzle pieces, but at Peter.

"I'm Morgan," she told him.

"Peter."

"I know. Dad says you're the boy he found at Target."

Peter frowned and turned his attention back on the puzzle.

"Is that where baby brother comes from? When you're big?" asked Morgan, still ignoring the puzzle. "My friend's baby brother came from the hospital, but he's tiny. Maybe older brothers come from Target."

"Yeah, maybe."

Morgan smiled at him, and Peter didn't realize until too late that his 'yeah, maybe' got interrupted not as him trying to get out of explaining where babies come from, but a solid confirmation that he was, in fact, Morgan's brother.

She finally got to work searching the pile of puzzle pieces for the edges, though, so Peter tried not to dwell about them being a family. It was for the best. Peter couldn't have a family, they all ended up dead.

He let her do all the talking as the put together the puzzle's frame. She told him about everything, from all her friends at preschool to the butterfly she saw land on the car window during her drive back from school. Peter just listened, and nodded, and hummed agreement when he needed to, but still, it was nice.

Morgan was different than his lifeless bots. She was real and alive, flesh and blood, human interaction he didn't know he carved. She talked back. She took breaths. She was only four, although she told him at least five times that was very old, but it was the longest conversation, the longest time he spent with the same person, in a very long time.

They had a lot of work done, most the frame pieced together, when Tony stuck his head in the door, looked at them, and smiled, a shine in his eyes.

"Time for bed, little miss," he told Morgan.

"Aww, dad, just a few more minutes," said Morgan. "We're almost done."

They were nowhere close to finishing, and Peter knew Morgan knew that. From the way Tony looked at her, Peter had a feeling if he weren't there to witness, Morgan would have gotten her own way, but on that night, Tony made her leave the puzzle and pout all the way to her bedroom.

Peter could hear her whining about it through the walls up until the very moment he heard her snores. Despite himself, despite being very unenthused about his situation, he smiled as he snapped two pieces together.

* * *

When Tony came into the bedroom a second time, he carried a large cardboard box with him. He put it down by the bed and joined Peter by the puzzle, as he was snapping in the final piece, completely the picture of the galaxy, with all its swirls and stars and planets.

"You did all that? In a few hours?"

"Morgan helped with the edges," said Peter, still looking at his work. It'd been boring, after Morgan left, and he wished he had something more challenging to keep his mind off being a prisoner.

"Tomorrow I'm giving you an IQ test," said Tony. "But for now, it's time for bed."

Peter looked up at Tony from his place on the floor. "I don't have a bedtime."

"You do now," said Tony, giving the cardboard box a kick. "PJs. Bed."

"PJs? You mean my prison uniform?"

"Very funny."

Seeing not much point in arguing, Peter got up off the floor, picked up the box and carried it with him into the bathroom, while Tony waited around in the bedroom. Once the door was shut, he dug through his new clothes. He had everything. More new packages of socks, of boxers, t-shirts, shirts with collars, sweaters, jeans, athletic shorts, and lastly, pajamas.

He put on a pair, surprised that they fit, that Tony had somehow actually got the sizing right, and went back out to the bedroom, only for Tony to send him right back in to brush his teeth.

Tony sat in the armchair, scrolling through his phone, when Peter exited the bathroom a second. He sat down on the bed, and stared at Tony, as if he expected him to change his mind just with a look.

Peter couldn't remember the last time he was made to go to bed. Maybe when he was Morgan's age. Even when he was with his aunt and uncle, as short as that time had been, bedtime was whenever, and besides that, he was fourteen. Way too old to be forced to go to sleep.

Tony, sensing his stare, straightened out, and looked up from this phone.

"All this talk about prison is just a joke, right?" asked Tony. "You don't really think you're being punished?"

Peter looked at the tracker on his wrist, a tracker that wouldn't come off, no matter how hard he pulled at it. "Is this not what this is?"

"No – you're being kept safe."

"Then take the tracker off."

"Sometimes we need to be kept safe from ourselves, too," said Tony, with a sigh. "I can't risk you running away and getting picked up off the streets by the wrong people."

Peter couldn't say he blamed him. He would run away, would have already, if it hadn't been for the tracker, and he was already thinking up ways to outsmart even that, and he didn't know why he was so determined to leave. He knew, at least logically, he should be happy Tony, and apparently Pepper Potts, were willing to take him in, to hide him.

"_Aren't thieves always just a little bit afraid?" _

His own words came back to haunt as he stared at Tony and wondered if Iron Man was truly invincible like he imagined him to be, or if all it would take for his demise to come about was taking Peter Parker in his family.

That was how life worked, or at least, that was how it worked for Peter.

"It feels like I'm punished," said Peter, but he meant it was easier to believe that, less scary, so he clung on to the belief, no matter how determined Tony was to snatch it away.

"I promise you, that isn't what's happening," said Tony. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you." He paused, sat up in the chair, so his back wasn't touching it. "Have you ever done something you regretted, or maybe not done something that you know you should have and regretted it?"

Peter looked away, and scooted backwards on the bed, suddenly needing to put more distance between himself and Tony.

"Hey, relax. We're talking about me. It's not an interrogation… this isn't going well, is it?" asked Tony, and Peter didn't know how to answer, so he stayed silent until he kept going. "I'm just trying to explain, I just sort of always regretted not doing anything to help that scruffy kid I met at Target."

"I wasn't scruffy."

Tony titled his head and dead-eyed him. "Yeah, you were a picture of poised and sophisticated, that's why you had dirt in your hair and were stealing cookies."

"And a pregnancy test," Peter reminded him, paused, then continued after a silence settled in the room. "So, you got to be a father after all."

"Yeah, I did," said Tony, looking right at Peter, who shifted on the bed, under the gaze. "And as a father, I know it's time for bed."

Peter, with an annoyed sigh of protest, crawled under the covers and put his head on the pillow. Now he knew for sure. There was no point arguing with Tony, or trying to escape, or worrying about him getting tired of him and shipping him off to Fury. Peter knew the power of guilt, and if it was guilt keeping him there, there he would stay.

"I normally don't go to bed until the morning," said Peter, and at Tony's look, elaborated. "It's safer that way." Tony nodded his understanding and he went on with his question. "How am I supposed to fall asleep?"

"It helps Morgan when I read to her."

"I'm not four."

"Okay so I'll find you a big boy book."

Peter rolled his eyes and shifted under the covers, so his ear was flat against the pillow and he was facing where Tony sat in the armchair. He didn't want to admit that he actually was tired. He was always tired. Rest wasn't rest on the streets, and the giant bed he laid on, covered in the softest, warmest blankets that seemed to swallow him, made his eyes heavy.

Tony leaned back in the chair and threw his feet up on the side of the bed. "I've been reading Enigmas in Physics, how about it?"

"By Reid?" asked Peter. "I've read it already."

Tony looked at him like he was an alien.

"He's got some wild theories, no evidence to back them up."

"Yeah… I agree."

"Sometimes I like to hang out in the library when the weather's bad," Peter explained, because he could see the gears turning behind Tony's eyes, how he was working hard to put together a puzzle of his own.

"And advanced physics is your go to?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Peter's explanation did little to ease the shock from Tony's face. It was sort of satisfying, being able to catch Tony Stark off guard, but he kept his smile hidden while Tony scrolled through his phone, looking for a different book to read. He settled on something more advanced, also about physics, and as he read from it, Peter struggled to keep his eyes open, until he gave up.

Sleep came for him fast, and when he woke up, in the dead of night, and the chair Tony had been sitting in was empty, he propped himself up into a sitting position and looked at the window, then back down at his tracker.

Peter collapsed back down in his pillows and pulled the blanket up over his head. He was too comfortable to think up escape plots. He was too warm. Both those were safer to believe than the truth, that he'd found a family, or rather, a family had found him.

* * *

A/N: thanks so much for reading! might be little bit until I'm able to post the next chapter, but ohhh I have plans!


	5. bottle cap bots part 1

"No."

"But," said Peter, dropping the tablet he'd been holding. It hit the table that sat between him and Tony, but Peter had stopped paying attention to it once it left his hands. He glared at Tony, who was glaring into his cellphone. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I do know," he said. He didn't bother looking at Peter, not even as he spoke to him. "You were going to ask what you've been asking all week and the answer is still and will always be no."

Peter creased his face, slammed his back against the chair and dug his toes into the carpet beneath him. Having spent the past couple of years living on his own, he wasn't familiar with hearing the word no, so he hadn't appreciated hearing it all week long from Tony.

It was insulting. It made Peter want to hack his ears off with an axe.

Tony and his bullshit rules and schedules and fake concern for his safety made him want to leap out the window just to prove to Tony he could survive the fall.

But he hadn't done that.

He'd done something worse than that. He'd been _good. _

He'd followed all of Tony's rules.

He'd eaten dinner with him, Morgan, and Pepper every night, and went to bed at eleven, and tried not to complain during the day when Tony's science buddy poked at him with needles, running tests on his biology. He didn't even complain when Tony dragged him all over the tower, to receive checkup after checkup, to make sure he was healthy after being out on the streets for so long.

He'd been polite to Pepper and nice to Morgan, even though they were practically strangers and inside he'd felt like screaming. This wasn't his family or his home, and the way Tony constantly told him no was just a reminder that, despite what Tony had told him on his first night there, he was very much a prisoner.

All his good behavior and hard work had come with no reward, or at least, none he cared about.

"This is fucking bullshit," said Peter, finally getting Tony's attention. He looked up from his phone, but his expression remained dull, bored, unimpressed.

"Your mouth is fucking bullshit, watch it," he told him. His eyes moved to the tablet on the table. "Chop chop, that test isn't gonna finish itself."

Peter crossed his arms and deepened his glare. Tony just stared back at him, blank faced and calm, making Peter slam his toes against the carpet with more resolve.

"Why can't I just go for a walk?" asked Peter, cringing at his own voice, at the way it had sounded like a whine.

That was part of the bullshit. That Tony Stark made him sound and feel like a child throwing a tantrum, when Peter was actually fourteen and an old fourteen at that. He'd been taking care of himself before most kids knew how to pour milk into bowls of cereal.

He didn't need Tony looking after him, which was exactly what he claimed to be doing each time he told him the dreaded word.

"I… what if… you came with me?"

Tony stared at him. Looked at him like he was stupid, and for a brief few seconds, Peter wondered if Tony was as frustrated as he was, until he shoved the thought away. Tony was the jailer. He didn't have a right to be frustrated.

"What if… Steve could go with me."

Tony let out a breath, and softened his expression, or at least, tried to. Peter gave him an A for effort.

"Listen," started Tony, his voice went softer, too. "It's been a rough week. I get it. You're still adjusting and you're unhappy, but you know why you're here and why I can't let you go outside, so you're gonna have to deal until I figure things out."

Peter frowned. He recognized the tone and didn't care for it. Not exactly soft, but it sounded the same way it did when he used it with Morgan the night before when she'd been caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

It was a dad voice, one that wouldn't be reasoned with.

"Come on, kid, pick up that tablet and get it done," said Tony. "We have your dentist appointment in thirty minutes."

Tony went back to ignoring him in favor of whatever was so important on his cellphone and Peter looked out the window. Freedom was so close, just separated by a thin sheet of glass, a black tracker locked around his wrist, and Tony Stark, who he'd never be able to escape from,

Maybe it wasn't so close, after all, just looked that way, like some sort of cruel illusion.

Peter picked up the tablet and looked back at the screen. The intelligence test Tony had loaded up on the screen was still there, taunting him. The questions weren't hard, so it was easy for Peter to intentionally answer each one of them wrong, in the most absurd way.

* * *

"Well, there's good news, and then there's the bad news," said Dr. Brenner, as he walked into the exam room, where Peter and Tony had been waiting. "Good news, there's no sign of any cavities, which is actually something short of a miserable, considering your background."

Peter shifted, and the plastic exam chair crinkled under him. He didn't really like Dr. Brenner, but they were stuck with him. He'd signed an NDA regarding Peter and Tony trusted him. Besides that, Peter had a feeling it wasn't just Dr. Brenner. He just really didn't like dentists.

"Bad news, we're going to have to take your wisdom teeth out," he told them. He pulled out a few x-rays on a digital screen. It didn't matter. Peter wasn't looking at them. He was trying to get Tony's attention, but apparently, Peter was invisible. "As you can see, they're going to be a problem for you soon, if we don't, so hey, it's actually good news, too. You arrived here at the compound just in time."

"Got kidnapped right on time, you mean," muttered Peter, crossing his arms over his stomach, and causing the dentist to frown.

"Ignore him, he's having a bad day," said Tony. "How fast can we make this happen?"

Since they were ignoring him, Peter blocked them both out as they talked time and dates. Instead of listening he picked at a string on his sleeve. His sweater was brand new and comfortable and nothing at all like the clothes he wore when he was homeless. He yanked out the string and watched the ones around it unravel.

It came undone the same way, though. That was at least something.

"Great, I'll let the surgical department know to expect you two tomorrow," said Dr. Brenner, as Tony stood up from the chair beside where Peter sat.

"Tomorrow?" asked Peter. He stayed where he was, looking back and forth between Dr. Brenner and Tony, who were, of course, ignoring him.

"Perfect. Keep it on the down low?"

"Of course."

"Tomorrow?" repeated Peter, louder that time, and getting both adults attention.

"Yep, we'll see you bright and early – "

"What? No – no you won't," said Peter, he turned to Tony, who was giving the dentist an apologetic look. Dr. Brenner gave Tony a shaky smile back and excused himself from the room, leaving the two of them alone.

"Don't you want to get this over with?"

"No," said Peter, too fast. Then paused. "Maybe I don't even need them out."

"Do you like pain?"

"No – "

"-Then you need them out."

Tony's voice that a tone of finality to it, so Peter knew the discussion was over. He followed him out of the compound's medical wing, the oral unit, and down hallway after hallway, staying quiet and sullen. He trailed him, never stepping out in front, or even coming up by his side. This was what he was reduced to. Sulking and pouting for his own way, instead of being free to make his own choices.

Neither of them spoke again until they stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut.

"I can't believe you're letting them take my teeth."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you, spider-kid, defender of Queens, are scared of the dentist."

"I'm not afraid," said Peter. "And I'm not – I _wasn't _a defender. I was a thief and criminal."

"Right, kid, a real street hard criminal. Pretend to be that all you want, but you forget, I've seen the all footage and I know you spent just as much time saving people as you did stealing from them."

When the elevator doors opened, Peter bolted into the penthouse. He didn't stop or look back until he made it to his bedroom, where he gently shut the door behind him. He stood beside it, hoping Tony wasn't going to follow him in there and bother him some more with the truth.

After a few minutes passed, Peter sighed and went to sit on his bed and gaze out the window. Part of him was glad Tony hadn't followed him, and part of him was still back in that dentist chair, or sitting at the dining room table, trying to get his attention.

* * *

Peter snapped a Lego in place, furthering his progress on his current model kit. It was some sort of classic, hot rod car. Peter didn't know. Tony had picked it out.

He'd upgraded him from jigsaw puzzles to Lego models. Not the kind little kids did, but the kind collectors would buy and build and keep behind glass. On his second day living with the Stark's, a giant box filled with the model kits arrived. It had Peter's name on it. Literally, and it was the first time he'd ever received a package in the mail, or at least, the first time he'd received one that wasn't stolen.

Peter had to at least give Tony credit for that one.

He might be his jailer, but at least he cared enough to keep him entertained while he was trapped in his room, with the door shut, in the evenings when he wasn't being hauled around the compound for medical tests.

He snapped on another piece as his door creaked open, with a knock. He turned, and saw Morgan, who smiled at him. She marched into the room and held out a piece of paper with crayon scribbles all over it.

"I made this for you," she told him.

Peter took it and looked at it closer. He could vaguely make out the outline of a tooth, that was smiling, and holding up a toothbrush with one of its stick arms.

"Daddy says you're afraid of the dentist, so I drew this for you to make you feel brave," said Morgan. "It's not that bad, and when you're done, you get to pick out something from the treasure chest."

"I don't think my dentist has a treasure chest."

"Of course they do," said Morgan. "What kind of dentist doesn't give away prizes at the end?"

"The kind the wants to hack my teeth out with a butcher knife."

Morgan's eyes went wide. "_What?"_

"It's time for dinner," said Tony, clearing his throat in the doorway. Morgan frowned at Peter, giving him scared eyes that stabbed him with guilt, before retreating from his bedroom. Once she was gone, Tony's attention narrowed in on Peter. "Watch it, okay? You can't tell her shit like that, it'll give her nightmares."

Peter sighed and stood up from where was sat on the floor, in front of his model car. "Yeah, sorry."

He really was sorry. It wasn't Morgan's fault he was frustrated.

"And they don't use a butcher knife," said Tony, as he clapped him on the shoulder.

Peter didn't flinch away, like he usually did, when Tony tried touching him, and instead, let him steer him by his shoulder all the way to the dining room, where Pizza Hut boxes had been spread out all over the table.

"Thought we'd try something traditional tonight," said Tony. "Since this will be your last meal eating solids for a while."

Peter took his usual seat across from Morgan and tried not to worry about how he didn't flinch, or how Pizza Hut reminded him that he had depended on Tony once before. It hadn't turned out terrible then, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad now.

He shook the thought away. Hope was dangerous. It cost too much, and Peter couldn't afford it. Even still, under the table where no one could see, he folded up the drawing of the tooth and slid it into his pocket, before grabbing a couple of slices of greasy pizza. At least his prison kept him well fed.

* * *

After Peter was so stuffed from pizza he could barely move, he, politely, declined Pepper's offer to watch movies with the family on couch in the living room. Instead, he went back to his own room, shut the door, and worked on the Lego car.

He almost had it finished when he caught the time and decided to change into his pajamas, before Tony bust into his room and ordered him to do it. That man was serious about his schedules, as Peter figured, most wardens were.

So he changed, and he brushed his teeth and got ready for bed, and by the time he finished and walked out from his bathroom, Tony was sitting on his bed, waiting for him. It wasn't uncommon for him to be in his room at this time. Most nights he stopped by just to tell him goodnight and ask if he needed anything. This wasn't most nights.

There was an annoyed look on his face and a StarkPad in his hand.

"Do you wanna explain what the hell this is?" asked Tony, holding the tablet up. Peter could see, even from where he stood across the room, it was a score sheet loaded up on the screen.

"Umm, a StarkPad?"

Tony stared at him, then said, "Come over here."

Peter's legs moved automatically, and he hated that. He at least liked to pretend he could be directly disobedient, but just seconds later, there he was, sitting next to Tony on his bed. He pushed the StarkPad into his hands. The test results were loaded onto the screen, showing Peter had gotten a total of zero questions correct. He couldn't help the slight smile that appeared on his face, the rush of pride, at his own brilliance.

"Explain."

Then just like that, the smile was gone.

He shrugged. "Guess I'm just not as smart as you think I am."

"Cut the bullshit," said Tony, in a snap.

They were both on edge, they were both tired and frustrated with each other, and Peter was sure he was about to see and hear what Tony really thought about him. That this was temporary. That they were just buying time, and once him and the other Avengers got what they wanted, they'd toss him to the streets or to Fury.

Peter couldn't figure it out, though. What they wanted. Maybe they had already gotten it. Maybe that was why they were really testing his biology.

Tony took a deep breath, and rubbed his temple, then released. "Pete, why did you do this? Why are you tripping out about a harmless test?"

The answer got lost somewhere on his tongue. Rather than tell the truth, he shrugged.

"Okay, well, after you recover from your surgery, we're gonna redo it and you're gonna take it seriously, got it?"

Peter didn't say anything in return. He couldn't sit there and tell Tony he'd give him an honest test when he knew he had no intention of doing so. If Toomes had taught him anything, it was to never show his hand, to never let anyone know what he had up his sleeve.

There was another lesson, too, though, that cancelled out the first. Always see an opportunity. If he had something the enemy wanted, he might be able to make a trade.

"…if I get all the questions right, will you let me go outside?"

Tony let out another slow, frustrated breath and plucked the tablet out of Peter's hands. "Why do you want to go outside so bad?"

"I dunno. Just wanna go for a walk."

"A walk?" asked Tony, deadpanned, then stared at him with eyes that searched, that scanned, as if he could detect the lies just by looking at him. "Look, we keep having this same conversation over and over again, you're starting to make me feel like a broken record, so quit asking."

Peter sighed and nodded his head. He didn't know why he thought he could change Tony's answer when he'd been so adamant about keeping him locked up all week.

"Hey," said Tony. "I'm gonna figure out how to fix this as soon as I can, you'll be off to school with the other kids in no time."

"School?" asked Peter, with a frown.

"Yep," said Tony, putting a hand on Peter's head and messing up his hair. "With the other brats."

Maybe Peter didn't want to be able to go outside, after all. Then again, it was sort of hard to imagine Tony getting rid of him when he was talking about school plans. He shook the thought away again. Still dangerous. It could still just be a lie. Adults were really good at that.

Tony stood from his bed and walked across the room, stopping once he got to the door. "Get some rest, we're getting an early start tomorrow."

Tony left him in his room at the same time his lights started to dim, the way they always did at eleven, the time Tony decided he should be in bed. He supposed he didn't mind the bedtime, his body was adjusting to it, and by the time his head hit the pillow, his mind was already shutting down.

* * *

A/N: I know it's been a minute! I'm hoping part 2 of this section will be up soon, thanks for being patient and reading! hope you enjoyed!


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